Beyond My Reach
by Mischief-With-Sandra
Summary: Handling emotions and feelings has never been Sherlock's strong suit. Solving crimes and mysteries has always been his expertise. So, how does Sherlock deal with the most difficult case he's ever been given and the tidal wave of sentiment that follows him everywhere he turns?


**BEYOND MY REACH**

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing. Literally.

**Author's Note:** A little something that kept nagging at me forever. So I finally sat down to write this out. I can't make any promises on what happens or if I continue, but I wanted to contribute to the Sherlock fandom. And I absolutely adore Sherlock and Molly together. I hope I made the fandom proud. If anyone is out of character, I apologize. I'm not a very talented writer, I mostly spew...random stuff out. Do enjoy! Cheers!

** _italics_ denote thought **

**OOOOO**

"Tell me, what's brought you here Dr. Watson."

"I don't-," stumbling over his words, his eyes fixed pointedly at a spot down on the floor, left hand nervously twitching at his side. Seated in a khaki brown chair that has clearly been worn from frequent use, he forced himself to lift his face to stare back at the woman seated across from him. "I really don't know why I'm here to be honest."

"Of course you do, Dr. Watson otherwise you wouldn't have come," she stated firmly. Leaning forward slightly, she adjusted the grip on her pen and scribbled something briefly, patiently waiting for the man in front of her to open up to her. Several minutes of silence carry on between the two in a quiet battle of wills. Flicking her eyes back and forth between her and the notes she's taking, she shifts back in her seat again. "How's your marriage John?" she softly nudged, obviously changing tactics to produce a different outcome.

"Fine. It's fine, great even. Mary's great, we're very happy," he enthusiastically replied, a confused expression initially taking over his features before allowing himself to smile for what seems like the first time in years, which in reality, has only been a few days.

"That's very good to hear, and congratulations on your recent marriage; I do believe you managed to make an appearance in every paper all throughout London," the woman cordially said, not looking up, she continues to write innocuous items down on the pad sitting in her lap.

Slightly annoyed by her constant writing and innate psycho-babble, John Watson was seriously starting to reconsider why he did come to begin with, and why he continues to seek out refuge in a place that clearly irritates him as much as some of Sherlock's worst habits. _Sherlock…._ Lost in his own thoughts, John missed the next question being directed towards him. Little did he know it would be the one question that would fully bring his consciousness back to the present and everything that had occurred just 72 hours earlier.

"I'm sorry. What did you ask?" he shook his head slightly as if attempting to come out of a never ending nightmare.

"I said, 'If you and Mary are doing so well, then why are you here John Watson and not on your honeymoon with your wife'?" she repeated her question slowly, deliberately, almost as if speaking to a child.

_Patronizing._ That's the exact word John would use to describe the therapist sitting in front of him. The nerve of that woman asking him that question. He shifts back and forth in his seat, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides as he tries in vain to reign in his temper for being asked such a bloody stupid question. His left hand doesn't twitch now, in spite of the stress he's currently experiencing._ Damn Mycroft for noticing such things. Damn Sherlock for not being present in a time like this…._

"_Damn _my hand," John abruptly spit out, huffing in his seat as his temper gets the better of him. "And damn you, you inconsiderate woman. You know damn well why I'm not on my honeymoon. Everyone in bloody London knows why!" Pointing his finger at the therapist in front of him, his face is clearly etched with anger. Anger over needing to be in the place he's currently at, anger over everything that's happened, that's she forcing him to come to terms with, even if it's for his own good and Mary's future well being. "I-I'm sorry. I didn't mean that," John softly spoke, rubbing his right hand across his head back and forth and exhaling slowly from his outburst of emotion.

"It's alright John. Those things are good to let out. It's all part of the process," she replied, unshaken from the outpour of emotion. "Why don't you tell me what happened. Your version of the events."

"I wouldn't even know where to begin with that," he replied exasperated, bring his hand down and gesturing wildly around the small room with warm colored walls; there's a couch distinctly placed in the far corner of the room, a working desk residing behind the woman sitting in front of him, one window covered with blinds, opened enough to allow the day's light to stream in across the floor, and a couple of tables filled with various knick-knacks and oddities of the like. An office made to allow anyone of any state of mind to feel welcome no doubt.

"How about we start at the beginning," the therapist suggested, setting down her notepad and pen, she brushes her hand across her pants as if trying to smooth out imaginary winkles before folding her hands in her lap, setting herself up for a lengthy session.

Looking around nervously, John Watson is truly frightened. Scared of the words that are about to leave his mouth, because if he starts talking, really talking about what happened, he may not be able to stop until his heart aches and his body is worn. If he speaks about the one thing that's happened, then he'll be admitting that it's the truth, and that it all occurred. And he's not sure if he's ready to admit it to himself; he knows no one else believes it. So why should he? But the reason is as clear as day. He'll do it, because he loves Mary, because they both need to do this in order to survive and have a future together. With a renewed determination in his eyes, John sits up straighter, looks out the window once as if briefly gathering his thoughts and then back to the therapist patiently sitting in front of him. He opens his mouth to speak, but no words come out. Head bent down slightly, John closes his eyes and purses his lips before swallowing the large lump resting in his throat. He looks up and opens his mouth to try again.

"It happened three days ago, Saturday; it was our wedding day."

**OOOOO**

_Three Days Earlier_

"Molly Hooper you better be in the process of getting dressed! Do not make me come over there and dress you myself on my wedding day," Mary playfully shouted into the phone, staring into a mirror and twirling herself side to side, admiring her wedding dress. The room is a make-shift dressing room inside the church she's about to get married in. Soon to be husband, John Hamish Watson is currently across the hall with Sherlock Holmes. Best man at the wedding, _God help us all, he better behave._

"Mary, I will be there, I promise! I'm just running a bit behind. It's been an awful start to the day, I finished work extremely late this morning, only to sleep in past the scheduled time I wanted to wake up, my alarm clock never went off, and it always goes off…and- oh bollocks, I'm rambling, I'm so sorry and this is your day, and not a day for me to spout off about my trivial problems. Please forgive me?" Molly ranted all in one breath, her regretful and flustered tone travelling to Mary's phone. Molly Hopper, the woman who's always thinking of everyone else first before herself.

She recalls the story John told her of helping Sherlock fake his death two years ago. A year and a half before she had even met John Watson. She could tell just from the way he spoke of her that Molly Hooper was a selfless individual, a brilliantly talented pathologist, and clearly in love with Sherlock Holmes. She thinks back to Molly telling her about meeting Sherlock and how she said she can't remember a day when she didn't love him. To this day she still doesn't understand what she sees in Sherlock, but then again, not a lot of people do, and she believes that makes Molly a rare and special human being alone, just like John for being able to put up with the git at all. She's still working on it. She doesn't put up with his crap, and she thinks that's the reason why he puts up with her; she's gained his respect and approval. John had introduced her to Molly one day at a hospital luncheon. They both had respectfully heard about the other through John and were able to meet finally face to face after dating for several months. She and John are both hoping to get Sherlock to open up to Molly at the wedding and admit that he cares for her. For two of the most brilliant people she's ever met, Sherlock Holmes and Molly Hooper are the most idiotic people she's encountered when it comes to reading each other's feelings about the other. In that respect, sadly, they were perfect for each other. When Sherlock came back from his 'extended holiday' as Mycroft likes to label his absence, his demeanor towards everyone was the same apparently. Brash and cold, condescending to the ends of the Earth, and constantly bored, that was Sherlock Holmes, and her fiancé couldn't have been happier…..after he launched himself at Sherlock and rightfully punched him, square in the jaw. The prat deserved that for lying to John for so long. Sherlock had only been back for a little less than six months. Mary was no fool though, both she and John could see that while it seemed Sherlock was back and solving cases as if he'd never been gone at all, his attitude towards Molly had changed. John said it's almost unperceivable, but he was different towards her, if only in the slightest of ways. She never knew what Molly and Sherlock's relationship was like before they had met, Sherlock had already been 'deceased', but she noticed that he treated Molly differently than anyone else she had seen him encounter. From subtle apologies, to near regretful looks after saying something 'not good' as John would constantly have to point out to him, Sherlock would even seem to go out of his way to clean up his desk space in the lab before leaving St. Bart's. These were small changes, but they were large signs that_ something_ had shifted in the consulting detective. Getting Sherlock to admit anything, well, that could take years, so she's hoping she and John can help speed along that process, starting today.

"Molly, stop apologizing, I'm your friend, and just because it's my wedding day doesn't mean I still can't be there for you," Mary replied kindly. "So, hurry up and get here and then I'll forgive you," laughing happily into the phone, Mary turned startled to see Sherlock standing behind her. _When did he sneak in? _"Molly, Sherlock's here, did you want to speak with him before hanging up?"

"Oh. Uh-yes? No, yes. I do need to speak with him for a moment," Molly stuttered into the phone and pausing for a moment before continuing, "Thank you Mary, and I will be there shortly! I wouldn't want to miss yours and John's wedding for anything."

"How's my dear husband to be fairing?" Mary said while walking over to Sherlock to hand the phone off to him, picking up her dress careful as to not trip over herself as she needs to finish putting her veil on.

"Nervous, antsy, and _disgustingly _happy, I'm afraid to report," Sherlock disdainfully answered her, dressed impeccably in his French tux, unruly hair trimmed and slightly tamed; his hand reaches out to snatch the phone away from Mary. "I am here to give you a message from your soon to be betrothed, as he wishes to remain traditional in not seeing the bride before the ceremony takes place that you need to be finished getting dressed within the hour so that we may inform your guests to properly take their seats. Lord knows John's side of the family runs infamously late, especially his sister, and don't even get me started on my own brother…," he ranted on, only to be stopped by Mary's withering glare.

"Yes, _thank you_ Sherlock. Here, talk to Molly, but make it quick," Mary snippily replied, shoving the phone at Sherlock and muttering to herself and she heads to the bathroom to finish getting ready.

"Molly, you've called because you're running late. You never run late and it is of utmost importance that you drop whatever it is the hospital needs you to do and come here immediately," Sherlock replied hastily into the phone now tucked into his left shoulder while fiddling with his tie.

"Yes, Sherlock I know I'm running late, you don't have to state it back to me as if I don't know why I'm calling, and I know it's important to attend the wedding; contrary to popular belief, I am not daft," Molly pointedly said, proud of herself that she hadn't stuttered the entire sentence, but that had been happening less and less since Sherlock returned.

"That's not how I meant that statement. I was merely implying that your presence is requested here to stop me from going completely bored out of my mind, _alone_, while attending this wedding, even if it is one of my only friend's. Someone should share my misery with me," Sherlock petulantly said, rolling his eyes at the shear length he knows the ceremony will take from start to finish. There's silence at the other end of the phone. "Molly?" he paused, listening and checking the phone to make sure the line is still active. "A bit not good?" Sherlock quietly questioned into the phone.

"Uh-what? Yes, definitely a bit not good Sherlock. Weddings are beautiful and lovely, I'm sorry I won't be able to share your feelings on the subject, but I plan on enjoying the wedding, and so will you. You will do this for John and for Mary. Do you understand Sherlock? It's only for a few hours, please? John needs you to be supportive for him and today most of all. You are his best man and his closest friend," Molly pleads into the phone, attempting to relay the importance of this day to him.

"If I must. Yes, I presume it _would_ be bad form to not act like the doting best man I'm supposed to be. John would most likely be upset with me, and I do not wish to face the wrath of Ms. Morstan either. Do hurry up Molly, the wedding does start in less than a couple of hours, and it will take you at least thirty minutes to arrive here from you flat, possibly forty-five depending on peak traffic this time of day," he rapidly spoke, not bothering with a goodbye, before ending the call and throwing the phone onto the side table next to him. Taking one last look into the mirror, Sherlock nods to himself and exits the room to attend to John Watson and the duties he must uphold as best man.

**OOOOO**

Staring down at her darkened phone, Molly Hooper slowly sits down in the chair behind her, a sad and regretful look gracing her features.

"Goodbye, Sherlock."

**OOOOO**

The wedding was beautiful, though Sherlock would never admit this out loud. Everything had gone off without a hitch, and now everyone was seated amongst themselves at their designated tables where the reception is taking place. Their table consisted of John, Mary, Lestrade, he refuses to call him Gregg, _what a ridiculous notion,_ Mycroft, and himself, of course. But there was one seat at their table that was still empty.

"Sherlock. Give it a rest, please. I'm sure Molly will arrive soon, you know how long it takes women to get ready, and she already called saying she was running late. We can't very well hold that against her. Obviously traffic has been horrid," John reassuringly spoke to his friend, knowing Molly would never willingly miss his and Mary's wedding, but a tinge of worry laced his voice watching as Sherlock's eyes never strayed from his phone and his constant calling of their friend.

"She should be here by now. I've calculated all routes and their time schedules, the possibility that Molly would be this late and not call again is absurd. We both know Molly doesn't run late," Sherlock answered concisely, but at closer inspection and the way he refuses to relinquish his phone tells a different tale of the inner workings of the consulting detective.

"If she's not here by the end of the reception, I'll swing by her flat to check on her," DI Lestrade piped in from the opposite side of the table, also concerned about the resident pathologist that has helped him out immensely as a friend during the time he went through his divorce with his now ex-wife.

"Sherlock, I'm sure she's fine. She'll be storming in here, rushing out embarrassing apologies to us all in no time at all. That's our Molly, apologizing even when things are out of her control. It was pretty close to the ceremony already when she phoned me," Mary replied, patting Sherlock on the shoulder a few times before taking a seat next to her husband. "I wish we could have pushed back the wedding a bit longer, but my mother would have killed me, literally I think sometimes during the course of planning this wedding. I'm just so happy we're finally married," she exclaimed happily, as Mary turns to kiss John, who gladly obliged her.

"Dr. Watson, I must say you have an odd arrangement, with those videos playing in the background on stage. Odd, but it seemingly works. What are they?" Mycroft Holmes asked from his seat next to his brother, who has exasperatingly thrown his phone onto the table and retreated into his mind palace for further explanation on why Molly is not currently next to him, and why it's increasingly disturbing him.

"Oh those! The videos were actually Mary's mother's idea. Each guest was given an application to they could record messages of well wishes, embarrassing stories of ourselves and other fun snippets to Mary and myself as a remembrance to each other. They were compiled and played in order of their arrival," John explained to Mycroft, who merely raised his eyebrow in reply.

"Sentiment," Sherlock muttered from the seat next to him, fingers steepled under his chin and both elbows resting on the table.

"Hey, look, it's Molly. Sweetheart, turn it up louder so we can hear; I think this is the last video in the set," Mary spoke loudly, in the hopes of catching Sherlock's attention. It did.

"Of course, dear. Be back in a jiffy," John lovingly said, kissing her cheek as he got up and shuffled to the center of the reception hall where the video projector was playing.

As John turned up the volume, everyone turned to get a better look at the projection that Molly had appeared on. Heading back to his seat, John started to hear Molly's voice float through the room.

"So, uhm, this is where I'm supposed to record my lovely message to my dear friends Mary Morstan, now Mrs. Watson, and John. Hi you two," Molly spoke through the video, smiling and laughing nervously and waving as the camera had a close up of her face. Her hair beautifully done, pinned in a tightly wound bun, with a few loose curls falling on either side of her face. Clearing her throat, Molly continued, "Well, first off- congratulations on your wedding! You're both married! I never thought John would settle down and get married when I first met him, he was such a flirt, going out with a new woman every other month it seemed….sorry John, it's true, just from the amount of times Sherlock has complained, I mean, spoke of your….female companions. But don't worry Mary, we both know how Sherlock is," Molly winked in response to that, something very bold coming from her.

Sherlock's attention as everyone's had been peaked since the moment her video came onto the screen; after hearing her recent comment, Sherlock pouted and slumped into his seat.

"I do not complain," he said sternly.

"Yes, you do," came a chorus of replies from his table, further agitating him.

"Do shut up, I can't hear Molly over your whining," Sherlock shot back, glaring at everyone at the table before refocusing his attention back to Molly. Glancing at his phone, his frown deepened with still no message from Molly. Sherlock couldn't shake the feeling that something was seriously wrong. He just wanted the damn reception to be over with, so he could physically check on Molly himself. Getting caught up in his musings, Sherlock almost missed out on what was said next.

"I have no doubt that the two of you will be incredibly happy together. I knew from the moment I met you both that you were perfect for each other. The adventures that you will both embark upon will be magnificent in your long lives together. I have been so honored to be a friend and companion to you both over the time I've known you both. Mary, without question, I know you'll take care of John. You are his rock. And John, I know you love Mary to the ends to the Earth, and will do anything to protect her. As I know your friendship with Sherlock will continue on, please do continue to look out for him. He really does need your friendship, contrary to what he says," Molly says as she hitched an eyebrow to what is surmised meant for Sherlock.

At this point in the video, something started stirring inside of Sherlock. The way she spoke, the direction of how the conversation was turning; it didn't seem like a simple 'Well Wishes' video anymore. This was something much different, his mind whirling at a faster capacity than even himself thought possible attempting to piece things together, but before he could decipher what it all meant, Molly started speaking again.

"Well, this next bit is definitely going to be not good. I always seem to be flummoxing things up and I know it's going to be my fault that this ruins everything. I am so sorry for that. I just wanted to say, that, that, I want you all to be happy and safe. That's all I've ever wanted. Uhm..," Molly nervousness starts to show in her face and in her body language as the camera pans out to her sitting in a chair wearing the dress that she was supposed to have on at the wedding; her eyes dart from a corner of the room she's in off camera back to the screen. She erratically starts scratching her arms, trying to take deep breaths and swallowing in order to continue speaking. "John. Before you go on your honeymoon with Mary, I have a case that I need you to go on with Sherlock. I know you won't have as much time because you'll be spending most of your time with Mary, rightfully so of course, but this will be one last hurrah for you and Sherlock. Sherlock will most certainly need you this time. The case number should be rated an 8 at least. I hope…you can never tell what rates a particular case with Sherlock though. He does tend to be finicky from time to time. It's a murder that you and Sherlock will have to solve," spoken hesitantly, pausing in attempts to keep her composure. Her mask of nervousness now turned into sad and tearful gazes at the audience before her.

Everyone at the reception was absolutely riveted to their seats. Not knowing what Molly Hooper could possibly be talking about. Sherlock and John both turned to each other with deeply troubled looks, worry openly etched on John Watson's face, while Sherlock's brow furrowed increasingly by the each passing minute. Continually ripping apart Molly's video as it continues on piece by piece, Sherlock deduces quickly that she's reading off of some sort of card, and that she is not alone.

A shaky breath brings them both back to the screen.

Heartache, fear and sorrow lace Molly's voice, one tear trailing down her face as she brings herself to say her next words.

"The murder you must solve, is mine."

The camera immediately cuts to a black screen, where the video is still running and the breathing of Molly Hooper can be faintly heard. Then the startling sound of one singular gunshot goes off.

The camera's image returns hazy and pixilated, but it can be definably seen that there is a chair tipped over on its side, with blood splattered on the wall behind it. And hanging on the wall there is a singular pendant swinging like a pendulum. But there is no sign of Molly.

No one at John and Mary's table missed the expression of pure emotion so openly displayed on Sherlock's face, sitting rigid and stock still, as the video had disappeared.

Devastation.

* * *

**OOOOO**

Reviews and comments are lovely.

If you would be so kind to leave me your thoughts from your own mind palace, I would be ever so thankful.


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